


This is Gospel

by Kencha



Series: Magic Sato 32051 [2]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: AU- Toichi died when Kaito was 2, Almost literally confronting his dad's ghost, Anger, Angsty Kaito, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Comfort, Ghosts?, Kaito is depressed, Kaito needs a hug, Mentions of Suicide, Referenceed Character Death, Repressed Memories, but he's not gonna be kaitou KID bc of this, childhood home, he's just gonna be a little less not okay, shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kencha/pseuds/Kencha
Summary: Kuroba Toichi died when Kaito was just a toddler. Desperate for answers and tired of deflections, Kaito returns to the only home he shared with his old man,wanting tohoping toneedingto find out why he has only a distant mother to care for him.(Maybe, Toichi hopes, Kaito will find family he never knew he had.)
Series: Magic Sato 32051 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573300
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Locked Away in Permanent Slumber

**Author's Note:**

> a lil two-shot about where Kaito is during Kaitou ROSE
> 
> in ROSE, Toichi died a lot sooner in Kaito's lifetime when Kaito was only two rather than when Kaito was eight (?) like in canon. Since Kaito was so young, Chikage couldn't just leave Kaito in Japan to run away from her problems, so she took Kaito with her to travel the world. Since Jii and Miwako cleaned out and moved the KID room to a different building (more accessible to Miwako) and because Chikage always kept Kaito from thinking about Toichi or his home, Kaito never gets the chance to find out that his dad was KID. 
> 
> Thus, I give you:  
>  ** _angst_**

The door swung open quietly, and Kaito stepped lightly into the house. Suffocatingly silent, the walls pressed in on him from every side as he quietly slipped off his shoes, stepping onto the thin carpet in just his socks. The fading sunlight filtered in through drapes he didn't dare touch, knowing a dust cloud and coughing fit would be his immediate reward. It was late enough that he was better off turning on the light, though he refrained from doing that as well, slinking through the house where he'd formed his earliest memories. The furniture was covered with old, crinkly plastic, crooning a soft hello when he brushed his hand over the back of the couch. He skimmed his fingers across a chair he vaguely remembered as his father's, and gingerly sat in the love seat in what his mom told him was the living room. He'd been too young when she had left on a never-ending vacation with him in tow to actually remember much about the house. All he knew about it was from her stories about his dad and the golden nuggets before he died, though the anecdotes were fleeting, few, and far in between.

Rising from the chair, Kaito floated through the house like a phantom, memories at the edge of his mind bubbling to the surface. A glance at the stairs brought a flash of an image, a warm smile and careful hands. Mom said he learned to walk after falling down the stairs. He could hear her voice in the back of his mind, cooing at what a sweet little baby he'd been, but he tuned out the memories-- both of his mother's voice and the moment from his infanthood.

Dropping to one knee, Kaito's gaze lingered on a stain on the carpet. He ran his hand over it, wondering whether he was the cause of the stain. His dad was always coming up with new tricks-- or so his mother told him--and some of them went disastrously wrong, costing them thousands of yen in house repairs and insurance. 

Her mouth had clamped shut after she'd let that slip. She didn't speak of his dad for a week after that, maybe more. The days tended to meld together as she did all she could to distract Kaito from the lingering sorrow and frustration he held against his father for dying before Kaito could properly remember him-- though it was more like she was distracting herself.

He blinked, realizing he'd lost himself in thought again. Shaking his head, he stood up slowly. He wasn't here to think about his mom; he'd left her far behind a month ago. A silent night, not unlike the atmosphere of this old, abandoned house, had been the stage of his escape from beneath her manipulative fist. He'd flown from country to country, never staying in one place for more than a few days, never looking back. Since she wasn't going to give him answers, he would have to find them on his own.

Kaito took the stairs one at a time, flinching when one of them creaked under his foot. The air in the house was stagnant, so stiff and still he felt like he'd choke if he tried to breathe too deeply. Something in his chest twisted painfully at the sudden noise from beneath his feet, that achingly familiar creaky stair. An image flashed in his mind: him, a child, held close to a warm, steady body. Someone carried him up the stairs, cooing a soft lullaby to him as he drifted off to sleep. 

Nothing in this house, it seemed, changed in the fourteen years since he'd lived here. Was it his father's ghost haunting this place, keeping time from moving forward? He'd seen the kitchen on his way in, a high chair for a toddler set next to the dining room table. A growing part of him felt like a stranger, an imposter in this house he once called home. Once upon a time, he belonged here, but some part of him felt so displaced, his skin begging to crawl with a need to go back to LA or wherever Mom was. He didn't belong here. This was a fool's errand. He shouldn't have left her alone.

Kaito shook his head to try and clear it. "No," he murmured aloud, offering his voice up to the thick, heavy silence. "I need to know why Dad left." 

The house did not respond, but Kaito swore he felt a presence at his shoulder. He didn't look. If he did, the spell would be broken, and he'd be alone again.

(But then again, he'd always been that way.)

At the top of the stairs, a short hallway (though it was more a landing) stood before him, a door to his left and to his right, the door on the left slightly ajar. Acutely aware of the presence at his shoulder, Kaito pushed open the left door.

The sunlight didn’t reach this room, the thick window shades blocking all light. With a brief moment's hesitation, he stepped into the room, his eyes adjusting to the faint light. He pulled open one of the blinds, letting the almost-gone sunlight illuminate the room, covering his mouth to keep from coughing.

The walls, Kaito dimly recalled, were once a bright baby blue, but in the long years since he lived here, the color had faded into a pale ghost of its past. A tall dresser adorned with peeling stickers of white birds-- doves?-- stood tall and firm despite its haggard appearance, the work of termites wearing away at one of its legs while dust left a crown on its head. Some of the knobs were loose in disrepair, and Kaito crossed the room to open the dresser drawers, to see if he could repair it.

He pulled open the top drawer, and clothes done in by a moth's handiwork greeted him. Worn thin and fraying, toddler clothing barely took up half the drawer. He delicately lifted a set of footie pajamas from the mess of mostly unsalvageable fabric, coughing when dust rose up in a flurry, attacking his throat. The pajamas were shorter than his torso, the sleeves too small for his hands, the feet of it alone dwarfed by his socks.  _ You've grown, Kaito, _ whispered a voice in the back of his mind, but he didn't acknowledge it. The pajamas, their soft fabric clumped up and faded with age, were almost rough beneath his skin as he folded them and put them back in the drawer.

Taking a closer look at the drawer handles, Kaito found that the screws on the backside were stripped, tightened too many times to be able to grip the wood with any semblance of security. He tried hand-tightening the screws, but the loose knobs refused to straighten. With a sigh, he glanced around the bedroom. Someone had been taking care of the house to some extent, but his bedroom felt like no one had stepped foot in here in years with the thick layers of dust, the cobwebs creeping out from the corners, and with the old and, in most cases, broken down furniture. He felt like he was walking through a dream, the silence giving way to dim memories, images, and feelings that skirted around his consciousness, allowing him to explore them as thoroughly or as partially as he liked.

Gaze settling on the bed, a lullaby from days long past glided into his mind, bringing itself back to life on his lips. It couldn't have been his mom who sang to him; she had the voice of a creaky old vulture with a smoker's lung and laryngitis.

His dad, then.

Kaito sang, voice low, barely above a whisper, his vocal cords catching as he tried to grasp at the voice humming in his head.

_ "Little one, it's time to sleep, so rest your weary head. Close your eyes to drift away to the land of the dead." _ A little lower, a darker tone than his own, the voice that came from his mouth was achingly and distantly familiar. He sang a bit louder, trying to force the memory to the surface.

_ "Ghosts of those who've gone before, please listen to their songs. Their sorrows and joys they'll tell, to keep you from their wrongs. _

_ "Once you've learned all that you can, come back to your bed. Wake with wisdom in your heart of what the ghosts have said." _

The melody simple, Kaito had no trouble keeping it up. He faltered, however, as the final verse came to his mind. The presence at his shoulder grew warm, enveloping him in what felt like a hug.  _ "Just as you walk with the ghosts, someday, I too will go. I'll leave you here by day, my son, to sleep with them below." _ His voice shook, his heart racing as his father's face, the image faded with time, surged forward in his mind. His father smiled. He was always smiling. He brought Kaito everywhere, even if all the lights and sounds were too much for his infantile brain to comprehend.

_ "I will not be far, my son, so each night, visit me. Walk with me and we will talk for all eternity." _

Kaito's knees buckled, and he collapsed on the tiny bed, belatedly surprised when it didn't break beneath his weight. The song fresh in his memory, he opened his mouth and began singing again.  _ "Little one, it's time to sleep..." _

He sang until his throat hurt, until he couldn't see the other side of the room, the sun long gone beyond the horizon. It was a new moon tonight, so nothing was there to keep the darkness at bay. Kaito welcomed it. He couldn't see the difference between his eyes opened and closed. His memories came and went as he sang, appearing before him in the shadows as they rose up at what he remembered as his dad's voice.

The worst part was, he'd never truly know what his dad sounded or like. Mom never kept any of his dad’s effects, never holding onto anything that might tell Kaito about him, letting Kuroba Toichi die when Kaito was barely two years old. Kaito had been hollow for years, knowing that something was missing, and now that he sat in this forgotten, abandoned house, he knew exactly what had been present where the hole in his chest was.

His dad.

Kaito clenched his hands together as if in prayer. "Dad, I--" he choked on an emotion akin to fear, his heart racing. "Dad, Mom won't tell me anything about you. I've been looking when I can for anything about how you died, and I--"

He hung his head. "They say you bit off more than you could chew. They say you didn't check the safeties, the backups, that you went on without caring about the risk. They're saying you killed yourself, Dad, and-- I'm lost. I don't know what to think."

He was met with silence.

Angrily, Kaito shoved himself to his feet. "I knew it," he growled. He dug out his phone and turned on the flashlight, not wanting to run into anything on his way out of the room. "You were just some no-good magician, an idiot who risked his life just for a bit of thrill, for a bit of money." He shouted at the air, drawing a sick satisfaction from knowing that if his dad's ghost was anywhere, it was here. "You bastard, leaving Mom alone to take care of me. She's been running all my life, running from your memory, running from how little you cared about her in the end." The presence pressed at his back, and despite himself and his pent-up anger, Kaito stepped forward, away from it. 

He turned to face the presence, finding nothing in the darkness. "She's screwed up, Dad, and it's all your fault. You didn't stick around for her." The presence crept closer, and Kaito found himself backing away, spitting insults and every hurtful thing he could think of at it. "You cared more about your  _ fans, _ your stupid  _ magic show. _ Well look where it got you, huh, old man. You're  _ dead, _ stuck in this old house, and everyone who ever loved you died with you."

The presence seemed to grow, and Kaito, tears welling in his eyes, shouted, "What do you want me to do, honor your memory? There's nothing there to honor. Mom doesn't talk about you, I don't even remember your voice. You want me to honor you?" he shouted, hysterical. "Then  _ encore,  _ you bastard. I'll blow myself up, be just like my suicidal old man!" 

The wall at Kaito's back gave away, and he lost his balance, falling backwards into the abyss below.


	2. Gnashing Teeth and Criminal Tongues

Kaito screamed, flailing his arms as he fell through the blackness that pressed in on every side. The terror flooded his mind _\--I'm going to die, I'm going to fall to my death, he killed himself and now he wants me gone too--_ for just a second before he landed hard on the ground below. Pain shot up his back and the air left his lungs as his tailbone connected with hard tile, his head falling to the ground a moment later. Kaito gasped for air, trying to breathe, trying to grasp competent thought. 

The room flooded with light, leaving Kaito stunned temporarily after being in the dark for so long. Dazed, he pulled his arms beneath him, curling in on himself, features twisted in pain. "Ow, ow, _ow, ow--"_ he muttered frantically, trying to get himself under control. The pain receded slowly, and Kaito was finally able to take a deep breath. Wincing, he pushed himself off the ground, the stars in his eyes clearing to reveal a large, white room, so devastatingly empty that it made Kaito want to shout all over again.

Pale grey tiles covering the floor reflected the bright fluorescents hanging overhead, the walls so white and so blank they made Kaito's head hurt. His eyes were forced to fall on the sole object standing alone in the room, dark and coated in dust. 

A jukebox. 

Rubbing his backside, Kaito looked around. "What the hell, old man. You know I can get out of here. I went free climbing on the cliffs back in the Himalayas." He chuckled, but it did nothing to ease his nerves, his brain going haywire over the deafening silence in the white room. "Not that you'd know that. You killed yourself and left Mom and me alone for the rest of our lives." 

The accusation echoed off the walls and came bouncing back at Kaito, leaving his own voice to come charging back at him.

His footsteps muted by his socks, Kaito walked to the wall and ran the back of his hand against it to gauge the kind of grip he could get on it. His skin caught on the slick material, his fingernails sliding smoothly across it. _If I went fast enough, I could run up the wall_ , he surmised, acutely aware of how large the room was and how alone he was not. Something else, that bastard's ghost probably, was down here with him. Trying to ignore that _thing,_ he cast his eyes up to the opening he'd fallen through. It was high above his head, far out of reach, making him wonder just how far down he'd fallen.

He jumped out of his skin at a mechanical clunk, whipping around to see the jukebox come to life. Multicolored lights peered out through the dust as the mechanical arm within the jukebox began to move. Frozen to the spot, Kaito watched as one disc in the array within the jukebox slid out from the rest and the arm lifted it from its tray. Setting the disc to play, the arm moved the needle into the grooves of the disc and a sickeningly familiar voice came from the machine, preceded only by a harsh static. 

_"Kaito, it's been a while."_

Tears stung his eyes, but he crushed the joy that rose in his chest at the old man’s voice. It was exactly as he remembered it, a mid-tenor underscored with a comforting rumble, and comfort sank into his tense shoulders despite himself at the voice that had been so prevalent in his early infanthood. He shook his head, biting his lip. "You can't do this to me, bastard." 

The recording didn't hear him.

 _"Listen, Kaito, and listen well."_ Kaito's heart lurched at the sound of his old man saying his name. He stumbled backwards, leaning on the wall for support. _"I'm going to teach you the secret of being a magician. First off, do you know what the most important thing for a magician is?"_

With every word that came from the jukebox, Kaito slid further and further down the wall. Back pressing against the wall, he refrained from sitting, his backside still sore from falling only minutes before. When the jukebox finally went silent, the lights fading to black, Kaito stayed frozen, crouching against the wall, shivering uncontrollably. "A magician?" His voice cracked. "You wanted me to be a damn magician?"

In response, the jukebox came to life again, the lights glowing a pale blue, remaining that color rather than cycling through the rainbow as it had done before. Kaito grasped at his chest, struggling to breathe. His dad was here. He was here. There was no denying it, try as Kaito might. Tears spilled from his eyes. 

This time, the arm didn't move an inch, but the turntable still moved as though a disc was atop it. His father's voice echoed throughout the room. 

"Kaito, nothing is as it seems. Reading the last page in a book won't tell you its contents."

The jukebox whirred, filling the room with the soft, comforting din. The lights pulsed gently, and Kaito felt a pair of eyes on him. His breath caught, a sob wrenching from his chest. "Then tell me the story, Dad." He broke all over again. "Why the _hell_ did you leave us?" He couldn't stop his lip from quivering nor the shuddering breaths that shook his frame as the tears spilled down his cheeks, falling onto his shirt.

The churning ever-changing chromatic cycle that had colored the lights the first time the jukebox started up returned, and his dad's voice came to him, the warm tones somehow more distant. His heart sunk as recorded words met Kaito ears, but he listened intently nonetheless, searching his father's advice on being a magician for second meanings and coded words. His old man talked about Thurston and Al Baker, about hecklers and tricks and critics. About keeping a poker face, trusting in himself, and finally--

 _"At the very end, I want to leave you with these words."_ Kaito jumped. Was this really all his dad had left for him? Where was his story, where were his words that told Kaito he loved him and Chikage? Where the hell was the part where he was sorry for leaving them alone? _He didn't know he was going to die,_ some part of Kaito argued, holding onto that dim, almost gone hope that his old man hadn't killed himself. _"If you can imagine it, you can create it. The words of a great magician describing his attitude when he comes up with a new trick. This also applies to an entertainer who aims to reach even higher heights. And with your conviction, if you aim for something, I have faith that you’ll reach it."_

The jukebox fell silent, bright colors fading to blackness once more, and Kaito stared in disbelief. 

"That's it?" he croaked. His head, which had been propped by his arms, fell past them to his knees. The world spun beneath him, dizziness and a headache pouncing on him after he’d been focusing so intently for so long. Clutching the back of his head, he shut his eyes against the pain. "That's _it?"_

Mimicking the bastard's voice, he said mockingly, _"Never lose your smile or dignity. Remember your Poker Face."_ His chest collapsed in on itself, and it was hard to breathe again. "Shut up, you old man," he said, dropping the mimicry. "You can't tell me what to do. You died."

Kaito dug up the remaining tears and cried for a long, long time, just to spite the ghost that hovered inches away, incapable of comforting his one and only child. 

With no way to comfort his Kaito, the ghost began humming a simple tune, the melody reminiscent of a pirate's shanty with a traditional twist. _"Little one, it's time to sleep,"_ he began to sing, only praying that his son would be able to hear some semblance of the words and be comforted by them. 

A ghostly lullaby reached Kaito's ears, and the tears came harder. The lights, probably motion-activated, switched off after a few moments, but Kaito didn't have the strength to move, his entire body so drained, his limbs almost as heavy as his aching heart. He just sat there, crying his eyes out as his dead old man sang him to sleep. 

* * *

Ginzou saw the lights next door, and his heart stopped. A thief? Chikage never went into the house. He vaguely remembered Toichi mentioning a son now and again, but once Toichi died, Ginzou had never seen neither hide nor hair of his friend's son nor wife in the more-than-a-decade since. Last he'd heard, Chikage was globetrotting with the kid, showing him the world. 

It was an open secret that the house next to Inspector Nakamori's was abandoned but not on the market, and for some reason that made it a target for loiterers and thieves. Ginzou kept an eye on it, chasing out the criminals who thought they could get a bit of easy cash, and it seemed tonight would be no different. 

Standing from the table, a hard gaze fixed on the flashlight beam that flashed a few times across the length of the window, Ginzou glowered. "I'll be right back, Aoko. It's another thief," he grumbled. "Geez, when will these guys give up?" Everything of notable value was in a safe that only Ginzou and Chikage knew about. Only furniture and pictures remained in the house. 

Pursing her lips, Aoko looked down at her dinner, all but finished. "I'll put away dinner, then. Should I call it in?"

Ginzou shook his head. It'd been a hell of a day at work, ROSE as dastardly as always. "I'll take care of this one myself." Moving to the counter, he unlocked and opened one of the drawers, removing a pistol and a magazine of rubber bullets. Ensuring the safety was on, he loaded the gun and put it in his back pocket. 

As Aoko began picking up dishes, Ginzou walked to the front door and donned a long, black trench coat. "If you hear gunshots, call it in. Otherwise, I'll be fine on my own."

Nodding as if this was normal (wasn't it a tragedy that it was?) Aoko put the plates in the sink and went back for the silverware. "Got it, Dad. Be safe."

He pulled on a hat for good measure, tipping the brim of it to her. "Love you, Aoko. I'll be right back."

"Love you too, Dad."

Any night could be his last, any criminal just a little too fast, a little too desperate, a little too smart. If that was the last conversation he had with her, he knew she'd never doubt his devotion for her, his one and only child.

* * *

The house was quiet, but there was a pair of sneakers at the door. Approximately 26 cm, the well-worn European style shoes reminded Ginzou of a pair Aoko said had been really popular a few months ago. His mental image of the thief shifted. Male, probably about 170 to 175 centimeters tall, and (based on the style) probably a younger criminal than Ginzou had originally thought. He pulled out his flashlight, slipping off his shoes, and began creeping through the house, avoiding the spots where the floorboards beneath the carpet creaked. He was confused at why the intruder's shoes were so carefully left on the edge of the genkan. None of the other freeloaders had thought to pay any respect to the place they were crashing for the night. Hell, most of the people who broke in didn't even bother with taking off their shoes. 

Ginzou was not one of those people. He wasn't about to disrespect the only place that had a ghost of Toichi's presence still here.

Under his breath, he murmured a quiet hello to his old friend. "Hey, Toichi. There's someone in your house. I'll get them out, then maybe you'll be able to rest."

It'd been long enough since the last break-in for the dust to settle again through the house. Footprints showed up clearly on the carpet, and Ginzou followed the intruder's path with his eyes, stepping lightly alongside it, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. He hated it when he had to call in the intruder since that meant teams of forensics and detectives would swarm the old house, turn the place upside down for evidence, and do it all without a second thought. His men were ruthless in chasing down the truth. They'd pay respects to Toichi's spirit each year on the anniversary of his death, but when it came to catching a criminal, they held nothing back. He couldn't let them do that to Toichi's haunt, the only place his old friend had left to call home.

The trail of footsteps led through the living room, behind the couch, and then around the front of it, stopping in front of Toichi's favorite armchair. A print in the dust indicated the perp had sat down here before standing and walking away. Ginzou shone his light on the coverings and peered closely at where the dust had been disturbed. Four tracks, each about equal size, evenly spaced apart went the entire length of the couch. _A hand?_ What was this filthy perp doing, sitting in Toichi's chair, feeling up the couch, walking around like they owned the place? Were they scouting out the place, figuring out how much this antique furniture was worth?

Ginzou saw red. "Not on my watch," he growled under his breath.

As he clenched his shaking hands, thick bile rose in his throat at the thought of some sleazy crook strutting through this house. This was Toichi's house. Bad enough the perp decided to barge in here, but whoever was dumb enough to trespass here was disrespecting the memory of the kindest, thoughtful, most talented man who ever lived. Ginzou was _not_ about to let that stand.

Furious, Ginzou followed the trail to the base of the stairs, finding a spot where it seemed the crook had dropped to their knees. Shining his light around the surrounding area, he searched for something that might make someone fall over, but he didn't expect to find anything, in all honesty. Toichi protected his own house. Most people who broke in said they felt a presence or felt like they were being watched, and the worst cases said they'd seen someone in white out of the corners of their vision. He might be dead, but Toichi never stopped caring about what was his, be it his friends, his family, or his home. 

Ginzou chuckled, a sharp flash of humour cutting through his anger. "Damn, Toichi, what'd you do to this one?" He kept the harsh grin, faux as it felt, on his face. Toichi had always been able to do that, lift his spirits when no one and nothing else could. 

He missed his friend, ~~every day~~ some days.

It seemed not even Toichi had deterred the perp, the footsteps leading up the staircase. Carefully, quietly, Ginzou followed the footsteps up the stairs, his chest tightening and his face falling as he did. He reached the top and stared at where the trail led. 

The nursery.

He took his gun from his pocket, chest heaving, nostrils flared, eyes wide as he used every ounce of his training and self-discipline not to storm into the room. The door half-open, Ginzou burst into the room, silently flashing his light into every corner—across the dresser _(what was that punk looking for in there)_ , across the bed _(what was he doing on the bed)_ , landing on the ceiling-to-floor picture of Toichi. For fourteen years, Ginzou believed the painting was hung on the wall, but now, the painting was clearly fixed on a spinning mechanism, sitting halfway into the wall, perpendicular to the walls on either side of it.

Shining his light on the picture revealed an opening behind it, and he stepped closer. "What the hell?" He muttered, pointing the flashlight's beam down the hole. "Has this always been here?"

He heard the scuffling of feet from below and knew instantly he'd found his perp. Lights flooded the opening behind the painting, blinding him for a moment before his eyes adjusted. At the bottom of this hole in the wall, pale grey tiles waited about fifteen feet below while a ladder hung on the inside of the wall behind the painting. Ginzou turned off his flashlight and waited for his eyes to adjust before gripping his gun between his teeth, swinging over the edge, and descending into the room below.

* * *

Someone's voice woke him. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep, but Kaito was awake the second he heard a voice from overhead. "What the hell?" a man said, his voice echoing down into the room Kaito passed out in. "Has this always been here?"

Scrambling to his feet, Kaito ran from the opening he'd fallen down, wincing at his sore and bruised backside, at the headache and vertigo that nearly knocked him over again after he'd risen. His face felt itchy, tear tracks dried on his cheeks and snot dripping from his nose. He didn't know how long he cried. It was probably better that he never found out. 

When the lights came on, Kaito searched the room frantically, but the only place to hide was behind the jukebox. The room was empty, devoid of anything that old man might've left behind. Devoid of answers. 

Ducking behind the jukebox, Kaito tried to quiet his breathing. Who was it? Who was in the house? He thought Chikage said no one lived here anymore, that she'd never sold the house and kept paying it off for the day they would finally go home. What happened to that? Was it just another lie one of his parents told him? His eyes stung, but nothing more came. He'd cried enough for a lifetime. 

A pair of feet hit the floor, and the same voice from before echoed through the room, louder and more aggressive than before. "Come out with your hands up," ordered the man.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" Kaito shot back, trying to sound confident, but utterly failing. His voice was more ragged and rough than he thought it'd be, raspy from crying too hard for too long.

"T-- Toichi? Is-- is that you?" the man asked, confused, the familiarity with which he spoke that bastard's name setting fury in Kaito's chest. 

Clenching his teeth angrily, Kaito shouted, "Why do you know my old man? Who are you?" he called accusingly. 

"Old man--?" With a gasp, the other man sputtered. "Oh my go-- Are you Kai, Kai, uh, Kaito?" Kaito stiffened, but the man only grew more confident. "Kaito, right? Kuroba Kaito?"

It was hard to breathe. "How do you know me?" he asked fearfully, wishing now he could do that poker face thing his old man mentioned.

"I'm Nakamori Ginzou. Toichi was a friend. I work for the police. I'm not going to hurt you. You can trust me." The man's voice did a one-eighty, turning away from harsh and demanding to lean heavily into calming, comforting, kind. "I'm putting my gun away--" _What the hell he had a gun_ "--and it's in my holster now. You can come out, son. You're not in trouble, I promise."

He sounded like a father, and that was exactly what Kaito needed. Emotionally worn to the bone, Kaito slowly rose to his feet, not sure what to expect, but too tired to worry about it much. 

The man standing there was maybe a head taller than Kaito was with a well-kept mustache and a head of short, messy black hair, the sides of his head shaven. Kind eyes, seated beneath anger lines on the man's forehead and a pair of thin eyebrows, watched Kaito carefully as he stood up and stepped out from behind the jukebox. Dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, the man certainly dressed the part of a policeman, especially with the holster and flashlight strapped to his waist. He had his hands, large and calloused, held out with his palms up in a sign of openness and kindness. 

"You look like hell," Nakamori said, wincing and taking a step forward, one of his hands coming up to reach for Kaito. Kaito flinched, backpedaling until he collided with the wall, whining when his pounding head reverberated with pain at the collision.

Nakamori froze. Kaito's breathing, ragged and shallow, was the only sound for a long, tense moment. Kaito didn't know what was wrong with him. He needed someone, anyone to help him. His mom wouldn't give him answers, his dad was dead, and he didn't know anyone who could tell him what he needed to hear except this Nakamori person. He should just talk to Nakamori, ask him outright about his dad, but everything was _so much._ The lights were blindingly bright, the entire room too harsh too look at, the jukebox too imposing a figure and Nakamori looking so much like the man in Kaito's memories that it set him off for no reason. 

He wanted to go home.

(Except he never had a place he could return to, so here he was.)

"What happened to you?" Nakamori finally asked, keeping his distance. Kaito couldn't speak. At this point, even he didn't know. When the silence persisted for too long, Nakamori changed his question. "Does Chikage know you're here?"

A yes or no question. Kaito could do that. Shaking his head, he asked, "You know Chikage too?" 

The kid looked up at Ginzou, his eyes so bloodshot and frame so small, and something in his gut twisted at the sight. He imagined Aoko in Kaito's place and Toichi's in his own. It was just as awful in that scenario, too.

The mention of Chikage, though, brought to mind the image of Aoko's mother, the love of his life. Smiling softly, Ginzou said, "She and my wife were close as sisters. You were friends with my daughter, Aoko." He paused, waiting to see if Kaito had anything to say about that, but it seemed like the kid's mouth was sealed shut. Finally, he asked, "Son, what are you doing here?"

Kaito's breath seized, stopped, and shuddered. He was so _tired_. He just needed to know. His brain-to-mouth filter shot, he blurted, "Did my old man kill himself?"

Nakamori went quiet, and Kaito was ready to start crying again. Was this person, too, going to keep the truth from him? How much longer was he going to have to wait to--

"No."

Kaito blinked, staring at Nakamori who evenly met his gaze, grief weighing down the older man's shoulders. "Toichi was killed in an accident, a magic trick gone horribly wrong. He did not kill himself."

Kaito's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. On his hands and knees, he cried out in a sharp, cutting whisper to the ghost he knew was still there, "What was this all _for?"_ That song, the jukebox, that garbage about _poker face_ and _dignity--_ What the hell was it all for?

Nakamori was at his side, hands on his back, lifting him off the floor, holding him steady as his legs refused to support him. "Let me take you home, son. We'll call your mom and figure everything out."

His head was still spinning, though, the lecture from the jukebox on magicians and all that nonsense flying through his head as he tried to make sense of it. "Did he even love me?" he choked out weakly, staring blankly at the floor. "Why did he--"

Nakamori said firmly, "He loved you more than life itself. He couldn't go one conversation without telling me how proud he was of you, son. He was always thinking of you, I promise."

His tears spent, Kaito gulped, finding Nakamori's steady, assured gaze, and nodded. 

With a nod of his own, Nakamori adjusted his grip on Kaito as Kaito planted his feet unsteadily beneath himself. "Come on, son, let's go."

"Kaito."

"Huh?"

Kaito gulped again. "Call me Kaito, please. Just--” A full-body shudder stormed through his frame. “--just not _son."_

With a silent nod, Nakamori helped Kaito to the ladder. Together, they climbed out of the basement and left the haunted house behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue?  
> yeah i'll write an epilogue  
> there's gonna be an epilogue  
> dw tis not the end
> 
> aoko still has to meet kaito  
> chikage has to find out where kaito is  
> we need real comfort for the kaito child so yea  
> epilogue (ish)


End file.
